


Thinking

by johnmykawaiiwaifu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnmykawaiiwaifu/pseuds/johnmykawaiiwaifu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dark Lord will be so pleased, Crabbe. </p><p>Just finish off the Potter boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am well aware this fanfiction should have been about Goyle because Crabbe's the one who dies etc. etc. 
> 
> But I felt like switching it up a bit 
> 
> Hope the factual error doesn't stop you from enjoying (:

You remember the first time you figured out you were a wizard. All you got was a slap on the back from your brother and a smile from your mother. She always smiled, even if she didn’t understand why. Your father never spoke to you before you became a wizard, and didn’t speak to you much afterwards. More or less his form of communication was a dismissive grunt and- if he was in an energetic mood- a small nod. He barely even noticed you’d gotten a letter from Hogwarts. You sometimes wonder if he even realized you were gone.

The Hogwarts express was probably the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. It was so sleek and shiny, so promising. No one was with you. Your brother was too young, he was only nine years old; your mother had left you outside the station with an empty smile on her face and your dad hadn’t even looked over his newspaper when you’d left. It hadn’t taken you long to run into Draco. His father scared you, with his cold, disapproving glare and his constant scanning of the crowd. His mother seemed nice though, if a little nervous.

“Sorry, sir.” You remember not being able to meet his eyes.

“Who’s this, Draco?” His mother sounded kind of distant, as if she wasn’t all there.

“C-Crabbe, ma’am. Vincent Crabbe.” You shuffled your feet a few times, feeling stupid.

“Oh look, Draco, isn’t that nice? Only a few minutes and you’ve already made a friend.” His father laughed softly and then that was that. You were practically chained to Draco.

You’re really not sure why you stuck with him. Maybe it was his aura of power or the fact he paid more attention to you than anyone had before in your life. But it didn’t matter, you stayed. As soon as you two had boarded the train you found Goyle, you stared at him for a while, not wanting to say hi. You didn’t really want to say much of anything. But that couldn’t stop you from thinking it. He was big, really big. He was almost as big as you. Or maybe you were just being cocky; he could have been a bit bigger. He looked well kept, like he had at least one person in his life that really cared, but he also had a kind of shifty look about him, as if he was the kind of kid who set fire to trash cans or was addicted to internet porn. He didn’t seem to speak much, all he did was grunt at Draco and followed you two to some seats.

The train ride was amazing; the scenery was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. And then everything was uneventful until you’d gotten onto the boats to Hogwarts. You really can’t remember much about that part of the trip, except for the cold wind and the hypnotic beauty of the black water beneath you.

The great hall was wonderful and warm and that was where you met Harry Potter. He seemed very small and unsure of himself and after Draco said a few smooth words to him he walked away. You could see the slight disappointment and anger on Draco’s face but you didn’t say anything.

All three of you got sorted into Slytherin and you pretended to be overjoyed about it. You kind of liked Ravenclaw though. Or Hufflepuff, you figured you could be a very good student if only you were given the chance. But what was done was done. And that was the beginning of your endless service to Draco.

Slipping into the endless classes broken only slightly by the excitement of Quidditch and “troll in the dungeon!” made magic seem a lot less… magical. It was mostly just a bunch of work. But the outcome was all that mattered. You’re not sure what you were expecting, whether it was petty card tricks or fairies but you loved the work. The methodical step-by-step instructions to perform miracles. You remember one day, when that Hermione girl was correcting some ginger on his pronunciation. You don’t know why but you loved her voice, her hair, the way she impatiently rolled her eyes at Ron. You didn’t get why but you think you loved her, but you were just 11. Crushes you get on people at age 11 didn’t last. So you made what might have been the biggest mistake of your life and you ignored it.

The Christmas break came and went, the weather grew warmer and soon the end of the year caught you by surprise and sent you packing back home. Being home again was strange. It was so bright yet empty. You missed Draco and Goyle and Hermione. Not like you’d ever spoken to her, she probably thought you were some insolent tub of lard or something along those lines. You didn’t understand why the feeling wasn’t going away, but you still ignored it.

You barely spoke to anyone at home. While you were at school your brother had gotten into an accident. He’d been playing with some boys who dared him to climb the tallest tree he knew. There was a tree in the neighbors’ yard that was probably the oldest and tallest tree for miles, so he climbed that one. He was very nimble, but the trees age betrayed him and a branch snapped, sending him plunging to the ground.

He would have been okay, but the other boys ran away. And your brother died.

Your mother had stopped smiling and your father made even less noise than before, and you were beyond glad to go back to Hogwarts for your second year. Again the endless cycle of classes, homework and magic swallowed you, until that whole “chamber of secrets” disaster occurred. You always seemed to be one step behind whatever was happening, you used to be able to think faster but now your thoughts were hard to process. You could no longer wrap your mind around complicated ideas. The blood on the walls, the petrified cat, the missing girl. It all seemed pointless. And then Potter saved the day and another year at Hogwarts was done.

Your home was still empty and full of sadness. Sometimes you just wanted to scream. Scream at your mother to stop being so depressed, scream at your father to stop being so vacant. But you just screamed it on the inside where no one could hear it but you. Eventually the summer was over and yet another Hogwarts year was started. The train was stopped on the way there but nothing seemed to happen, and then during the start of year feast Dumbledore made some unimportant announcement about Dementors and murderers. Nothing seemed to matter. You’d become an idiot. You could see the way Hermione looked at you now, her disgust barely hidden. Every time she looked at you like that you felt like a puppy that had been kicked. You didn’t want to disappoint her. But through this new idiocy your feelings for her were dulled to the point where they disappeared.

There was more commotion this year, about the murderer Dumbledore had mentioned earlier. Again, nothing mattered. It all seemed so dull. The work you used to enjoy had become tedious; you never wanted to do anything anymore. You found yourself incapable of making your own choices, so you let Malfoy make them for you.

The year dragged by and you found yourself home on summer break with only your father. He didn’t say a word when you went in, just slid a newspaper towards you. All you could see was the bold headline **DEPRESSED MOTHER OF DECEASED SON COMMITS SUICIDE.** And a picture of your mother lying on the ground, a bottle of pills clasped in her hand and a faint smile on her face.

Your hands were shaking as you held the paper and your heart broke. Your father was getting weak, you could see it. He was coughing and he looked sad when he thought you couldn’t see him. Finally around mid July he collapsed onto the ground while making himself a cup of coffee. You rushed over to him and grasped his hand in yours. He looked you in the eye for the first time in years and he opened his mouth to say something.

“I’m so proud of you, son.” His voice was merely a whisper and you stared at him as he let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

He didn’t open them again.

After the police were finished you were left alone in an empty house, with an empty heart. The days ticked past as you waited for Hogwarts to open its doors to you again.

Eventually the summer was over and the Hogwarts express was in the station for you, gleaming red and beckoning to you.

It was your fourth year.

The triwizard tournament was held, new schools arrived. Potters name was drawn from the triwizard cup and all the attention was drawn to him yet again. You were okay with that, though. You liked to be the one who watches, as long as you aren’t being watched.

The challenges were exciting, though Draco was bitter through it all. You liked the dragons. Those huge beasts that could end millions of lives in one second. You wonder what it would be like to have that much power. You would use it to end lives, alright. And then you would ally yourself with the dark lord and show everyone who the idiot was. But that was just fantasy. You’d never be that powerful.

The challenges kept going and so did the classes and life in general. But you didn’t. You were losing your mind. At the last challenge something happened to Potter and Cedric Diggory ended up dead. You wish both of them had died, but no such luck. _Why couldn’t the Potter boy die?_

You went back home for yet another summer, you returned to Hogwarts for yet another year. There was a lady in pink who wouldn’t shut up. All your thoughts were stirring around in your head in a large boiling mass of hate and anger. _Patience, Crabbe. The Dark Lord will reward you well for your patience._

All these new rules were issued, the only fun thing you ever got to do was when you busted in on “Dumbledore’s army”. You liked the pain on their faces. You realized you liked the way people squirmed when you were hurting them, you began to enjoy yourself. You started beating up first and second years, then anyone who bothered you. It was so enjoyable, the blood and pain on their faces. You were almost sorry when Dumbledore returned and the year was over. Almost. _The old man must die._

You started beating kids up in the neighborhood. You didn’t need magic to do it, just your fists and your anger. You found yourself smiling. You never spoke anymore. Draco never needed you to and there was no one to talk with at home over the holidays. You found yourself just thinking. You couldn’t tell if you were talking out loud or just thinking anymore. What was really the difference? _You are your only friend, Crabbe. No one else understands._

Hogwarts opened its doors to you for a sixth year. Draco was injured at one point, and Goyle was a wreck. Your loyalty to Draco had long since worn off though, you didn’t need him anymore. Eventually Draco was back though, and your short lived freedom returned to doing whatever you were told to do. Except you didn’t do it quite as fast or as willingly as before. Draco called you an idiot, but all that did was make you mad. He was so frail; you could break his neck anytime you wanted to. His red blood would look like candy against his pale skin. _No, not yet, Crabbe. Not yet, but soon._

Finally Dumbledore died. As a mob of students gathered around his broken body on the grass, a dark patch of blood pooling around him you stood at the back; your shoulders shaking with laughter. With Dumbledore gone everything was perfect. _Come and get me, my Lord. I’m ready for you._

But you knew nothing could happen just yet, so you returned you your house and waited the summer out. Hogwarts had surrendered itself to The Dark Lord and know all that was left was Potter. _Oh Potter, when will you learn to give up? This is one battle your arrogance can’t win._

But Potter wasn’t at school. Your seventh year was spent waiting for him. Except this year you enjoyed the classes almost as much as you had your first year. You got to practice curses on the first years. No one cared anymore if you beat someone up. You almost killed a fourth year and the staff didn’t even bat an eye. _Every face looks like Potters. No matter how many times I kill him he never goes away._

And then Potter did show up, and a great battle followed. You were locked away in the dungeons with the rest of the Slytherins, but that couldn’t stop you. You merely apparated out of there. The barriers were broken. _Nothing can stop me anymore._

Malfoy and Goyle followed soon after, but you barely noticed. All you cared about was Potter, and how great a reward you would get from bringing him to The Dark Lord. _Come here, Potter. I’m not done with you yet. Your blood will look so pretty on my hands._

You found Potter in a room full of wonderful things. But it was all just junk. All that mattered was him. And then Goyle ruined it all. He started casting spells and everything became so hot, there was so much fire. _That bloody idiot has ruined it all. He can’t be allowed to live._

Before you realized what had happened Goyle was on the ground, dead, and your wand was smoking from the spell you had just cast. You were picked up on a broom and suddenly you were out in the hallway, scorches on your shirt and face. _He deserved it, they all do._

You stood up and pointed your wand at Potter, but he was already gone. You had missed your chance, and now everything was falling apart. Draco was staring at you, but soon he to ran away and you were left in a hallway, all alone. _You’ve failed, Crabbe. Just kill yourself. It will be a lot less effort._

But you didn’t have time to think about it, an intense pain racked your body and you collapsed onto the floor, a distant smile on your face. You saw a black cloaked Death Eater sweep past you, and seeing that you were a Slytherin he swore and bent down to check your pulse. But you had none. You found this odd, because you were still thinking. _You’re dead, Crabbe. Give it up._

You found yourself weightless. You were overcome with the urge to laugh and fly away, but you didn’t. You just kept floating upwards, into the starry black sky. Nothing mattered anymore, and you didn’t have to think. _Welcome home, Crabbe. Welcome home._


End file.
